The Czechs and Lisbon

Klausology

Decoding the Czech president’s obstructionism

IF THE outside world were begging for a delay to the Lisbon treaty, the Czech Republic's famously contrarian president would probably hurry it along. As it is, he is enjoying a last-ditch attempt by his Eurosceptic allies to get it blocked by their country's constitutional court. No matter that the case is flimsy: the court has already declared the key elements of the treaty “not at odds” with the Czech constitution. And no matter that Mr Klaus detests the court interfering in the executive branch of government. The new hearing, brought by his allies in the Czech Senate, neatly ties his hands: he cannot sign the treaty, even if he wants to.

The court's chairman, Pavel Rychetsky, says the first hearing may be at the end of October. He wants the verdict as soon as possible (meaning quicker than the previous case, which took seven months). Unlike another European initiative, the social charter, which Mr Klaus has refused to sign since the Czech parliament passed it in 2003, the treaty should then go through: Mr Klaus seems to accept that. He dismisses the idea of spinning things out until a new British government can call a referendum. Too late for that, he says.

The clearest but unkindest explanation for Mr Klaus's conduct is a desire to be noticed more than his predecessor, Vaclav Havel. The playwright-philosopher is revered in just the liberal-minded circles that Mr Klaus sees as soft-headed and elitist. Given that, any outside pushing will be counterproductive. But a phone call from Moscow might work: despite his Atlanticist views, Mr Klaus is a friend of Vladimir Putin. And why? Another question for the psychologists.